


Conversations

by bananacosmicgirl



Series: The Staying universe [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e22 SWAK, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananacosmicgirl/pseuds/bananacosmicgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony recovers from the plague, and Tim is there to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of ‘[Staying](http://archiveofourown.org/works/789280)’. As I wanted to keep that a gen, friendship fic, and this will be more than that (ie slash), this gets to be a sequel instead of chapters added to that story. Read that first.

 

He remembers what it felt like when he first found out.

_‘The blood tests were negative.’_

Tearing the suit off feels fantastic after being stuck in it for over an hour, hardly able to work with clumsy, gloved fingers. Breathing the office air feels like freedom.

_‘Sweet!’_

_‘Not for DiNozzo.’_

Gibbs doesn’t look at him, and he’s glad. He knows he looks stricken – he feels like he’s just been dumped in cold water.

_‘Positive?’_

There is no answer from Gibbs. His eyes are glued to the computer screen as Cassie works. Tim can barely think, even though his brain is in overdrive. He recalls what he knows of the Plague from his history lessons – and none of it is any good.

He realizes now, sitting by Tony’s side, that ‘not good’ doesn’t even begin to cover the damage the illness is causing.

Tony struggles to breathe, his forehead sweaty with fever still. It has been two days since Tim first came to Bethesda, and Tony is better – at least the doctors are saying he is; Tim has half a mind to doubt it. But then, the time between the coughing attacks is lengthening, and sometimes, it’s even half an hour between fits.

They haven’t talked much; Tony has mostly slept, and Tim’s not sure if he knows just how careful a vigil Tim has kept over him. He prefers it if Tony doesn’t know – he doesn’t need more material for teasing than he already has.

_‘Scared of losing me after all, McWorry? I knew you cared about me.’_

And though the teasing is annoying, all Tim wants is for things to get back to normal. The office feels empty without him there. Gibbs is snappy and Kate looks like a hollow shell.

“You should go home, Probie.”

Tim looks up at Tony. Tony’s on the bed and Tim’s in the chair, meaning Tony is slightly higher up than Tim. It feels natural for it to be that way; though they are almost the same height, it always feels like Tony’s looking down slightly at Tim.

“You, uh, don’t want company?” Tim asks, wondering if he’s worn out his welcome. He probably has.

“Don’t mind you here,” Tony says, to Tim’s surprise. “But Gibbs gotta have something else for you to do.”

Tim shakes his head. “I have my laptop, so I can do most of the stuff from here.”

Tony gazes at him, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Why are you here, McGee?”

Tim doesn’t know what to say, so he stammers, “I—uh, you—ah—”

Tony smirks at him. “Cat got your tongue?”

Tim stops trying to form a sentence, and snaps his mouth shut. His thoughts are still running a mile a minute, trying to come up with a good answer, but at least he can stop himself from sounding like a stuttering fool.

Finally, he settles on a quiet, “Just thought you wanted company.”

He hopes Tony will accept it.

Tony’s eyes are piercing, not unlike Gibbs’ intent stare, as he looks at Tim. Tim feels like he’s being picked apart from the inside, and he fights the wish to look away. He raises his chin just a smidge, defiantly.

Tony finally nods. “I do. ‘s nice.”

“Good,” Tim says, and ducks his head back to his laptop, pretending to be busy. In reality, he has nothing to do; work has been slow, and all they’re doing is looking through cold cases.

He feels Tony’s eyes on him.

“What?” he snaps, not very harshly.

“What cases are you working on?” Tony asks.

“Lyndon,” Tim says. “But there’s nothing new here.”

“Can I look?” Tony asks, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. Tim wonders if he’ll ever be quite so happy about reading about murders – but then, Tony has expressed his boredom twice, just in the last hour.

“Gibbs’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve given you work,” Tim says.

“Oh, live a little, Probie,” Tony says.

Tim’s indecision lasts for about ten seconds. Then he can’t resist the combination of pleading and challenge in Tony’s eyes, and he stands, placing the laptop in Tony’s lap. The bed is already raised at an angle, so it’s a comfortable position for Tony.

Tony reads in silence while Tim leans on the bed, re-reading over Tony’s shoulder. The case is old – from the late eighties – and it seems unlikely that they’ll catch a break in a hospital bed in Bethesda. Who knows, the murderer might not even be alive anymore. The investigation had pointed towards the wife of the murdered Lieutenant, but there had never been any evidence, least of all enough to bring to court.

From his place beside Tony, Tim sees Tony’s eyelids drop slowly. Then, just as they close, Tony opens them wide again, snapping back to wakefulness, until another thirty or so seconds have passed, and he repeats the procedure.

Tim grabs the laptop.

“You should sleep.”

“Gee, McMommy,” Tony said, glaring up at him. “You my nurse now?”

“You need to sleep, Tony,” Tim says, putting the computer on the chair he’d been sitting on earlier.

“It’s all I ever do here,” Tony snaps – and then they both immediately regret him doing so, as it brings about a fit of coughing.

Tim helps him lean forward as he gasps for breath, each cough sounding like he’s going to spit out a damaged lung. It’s a wet, unpleasant sound, and Tim rubs circles with his hand on Tony’s back. He’s done it before – he’s helped Tony a number of times by now. It seems to soothe Tony. Neither of them mention it afterwards.

Tony rests back against the bed again. Tim still holds one hand on Tony’s shoulder; he has a hard time letting go.

Tony has his eyes closed as he tries to breathe calmly.

Tim places a napkin in Tony’s hand so that he can wipe his mouth. He’s not so physically weak anymore that he can’t do that by himself. He brings the napkin up to his mouth with a shaking hand, and wipes away the mucus he’s coughed up.

Long minutes pass. Tim stands next to Tony, his thoughts running to Hanna Lowell, and all the things he’d like to do to harm her. Brain cancer isn’t enough; Tim wants to give her the pneumonic plague, wants her to hurt the way Tony is hurting.

“You—look—murderous,” Tony says, between labored breaths.

Tim shakes his head to clear it from the thoughts of that awful woman.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just thinking—uh, never mind.”

“’bout killing me—put me out—of my misery?” Tony asks, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Tim grins briefly, blocking all negative thoughts for now. Tony doesn’t need negativity; he won’t be helped by the maiming of Hanna Lowell.

“Don’t think so,” Tim says. “You’re stuck here.” Tony’s eyes close again, and Tim squeezes his shoulder. His hand still hasn’t left Tony. “Sleep. Gibbs’ll have you pulling all-nighters soon enough anyway. You should enjoy your time off.”

Tony gives him a half-hearted glare. “Fantastic vacation, this.”

But he’s tired. It’s painfully visible just how much of a toll the plague is taking on Tony’s body – the dark purple circles around his eyes, and the sickly bluish tint to his skin. He’s lost weight, and every movement he makes – what little he does move – is shaky.

Tim fights the urge to bend down and kiss Tony’s forehead. He doesn’t think it will go over very well at all – and it will leave Tony with teasing fodder for life.

“You should—talk to the daughter,” Tony says, eyes already closed, and if his muffled breathing is anywhere to go on, he’s half-asleep.

“The daughter?” Tim echoes, and then he remembers the Lyndon’s daughter – she was six at the time of the murder, which meant she was twenty by now.

“Might’ve seen something—something she didn’t want to say back then,” Tony says. “And the—sweater. DNA.”

“Tony, sleep,” Tim says gently, and though he doesn’t dare to give Tony a forehead kiss, he does move his hand there, to run over his damp forehead and hair. “We’ll talk about the case when you wake up.”

“You promise?” Tony mumbles, and Tim’s not certain he can even hear Tim anymore.

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I promise.”

It feels odd beyond words to reassure Tony this way. Tony, who is all teasing and grins, flirting with women and bragging about his conquests, never showing the least bit of weakness. He wonders what it’s like for Tony, who is used to being in control, to be this way. To be near helpless, in need of other people to care for him. He can’t imagine any scenario where Tony would like that. He can’t even imagine any scenario where he, Tim, would like such a thing.

He gives Tony – who is now sleeping, his head falling gently to the side – one last long gaze, before letting go and sitting down. He wonders how long it will be before Kate arrives; she’s been at the office for a couple of hours, but said would be there as soon as possible. Gibbs might come by too, and Abby, and Ducky.

Flipping his laptop open, Tim hopes they’ll stay away for a little while longer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

He has a hard time believing that while struggling to breathe, Tony is still better at spotting details and making logical leaps than Tim and Kate. But the sweater found shoved away in the Lyndon’s closet turns out to have both DNA– the wife’s, and the murdered Lieutenant’s – and minute traces of blood on it.

“They didn’t know DNA back in the eighties the way we do now,” Abby tells Tim.

“But it’s definitely the wife’s DNA, and the husband’s blood?” Tim asks, to be sure.

“Yep, definitely,” Abby says.

He talks to the daughter, and secrets are brought into the harsh light of day. The daughter is in college, but willing to meet with Tim, and when he is in the car on the way back, he phones Gibbs.

“The wife was having an affair,” he says. “And she’s now married to the man, has been for the last ten years. The daughter didn’t realize when she was six, and when she did, no one was around to ask questions anymore.”

Gibbs doesn’t tell him it’s a good job, and Tim doesn’t mind – he’s not acting on his own ideas. He heads to Bethesda instead of to the office, because he hasn’t been there yet today.

Tony looks better now. His skin has regained some of it’s healthy, pink tinge again and the shadows around his eyes are less pronounced. There’s still an oxygen cannula running beneath his nose, and an IV drip in his arm, but his eyes are alert when Tim enters.

“Probie!” he says.

“Hey, Tony,” Tim says.

Tony gives him a once-over. “You’ve been out playing a real detective, haven’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tim says. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Tony says. “About what?”

Tim smiles slightly and sits down. “The Lyndon case. There was both DNA and blood on the sweater, and the daughter told me her mom was having an affair at the time of the murder.”

“So the wife killed him so that she could be with the other guy?” Tony asks.

“That’s the assumption I’m working on now,” Tim says. “And the life insurance the Lieutenant had.”

“Well, you’re lucky to have me, aren’t you?”

Tony smiles, rather brightly, although it’s an almost grotesque imitation of the smile he usually charms the ladies with. He looks healthier, not healthy. Still, it’s nice to see him smile, Tim thinks, especially when they weren’t certain they’d ever get to see the DiNozzo smile again at all, just days ago.

But he can’t say any of those things to Tony, no matter how true. Instead, he gives a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, so lucky.”

Silence spreads for two beats, and then Tony asks, “So, nothing else new?”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Tim says.

“It’s all I do here, McWorry,” Tony says, making a face. “I’m so rested, I could stay up for a week without trouble.”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Tony relents. “Maybe not a week.”

“How about you manage to stay awake for a whole day, and then I’ll start bringing cases for real?” Tim says.

Tony is about to reply when he gets that look on his face that Tim has learned to recognize by now – the look of fear and pain that precedes a coughing attack. Tony sits up straight, knees curling up, and Tim winces as he coughs.

His breathing is wheezy and fast when it ends. Tim doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, but finally asks, “Do you want some water?”

Tony nods wordlessly. Tim pours water into a plastic cup and hands it to Tony. He holds onto the cup until he’s certain Tony has a good grip with his shaking hands. Tony takes small, slow sips.

“I’m so tired of this,” Tony mutters.

“I can’t even imagine,” Tim says honestly.

Tony looks at him, a sideways look from his still hunched over position. There is exhaustion in his eyes – but also determination and even some anger. Tim is fairly certain the latter isn’t directed at him; it’s at the plague itself and the cause of it, Hanna Lowell.

“Didn’t think I was gonna make it,” Tony says, his voice quiet and low. He’s looking at his hands, studying the now empty plastic cup.

Tim swallows – he doesn’t want to know what the world would be like without Tony in it. He may be annoying and he may tease Tim to the ends of the earth, but there is just so much more to him. So much more that Tim wants to know, so much more that they haven’t explored. There are things Tim is sure Tony will teach him, things about the job, and about life. He wants to have the chance to learn those things, to get to know Tony.

“It felt like I was drowning,” Tony says. “But I was on dry land, and it was all just—inside. I couldn’t get away.”

Tony’s soft words make Tim’s heart ache. He reaches out, grabbing Tony’s hand, just to reassure himself that Tony’s still there – and perhaps to reassure Tony, too, that he’s still there. Tony looks at him with surprise. Tim drops his hand, and looks away.

Tony speaks again. “Gibbs told me I wouldn’t die. He even slapped me. And I just knew – I had to fight.”

“Glad you did,” Tim says, speaking as quietly as Tony.

“Yeah, well,” Tony says, glancing at him, “I couldn’t leave and let Kate become the Senior Field Agent, now could I?”

His words are joking, but his voice is not.

He lays back, the movements slow and precise. Tim knows it’s so that he won’t have another coughing attack, and he wants to tell Tony to take it very, very easy, because Tim doesn’t want to have to listen to him hacking up a lung again. The sound makes Tim’s gut twist, it sounds so painful.

“She’s coming by later,” Tim says. “Gibbs is having her interrogate Lyndon’s wife again.”

Tony gives Tim a long look. It’s like they both know that what Tony just said is just the tip of the iceberg, but he’s glad that they are changing the subject to something more neutral and happy.

Tony gazes at the empty, white opposite wall.

“Bet she misses me,” he says.

“Yeah, she does, I think,” Tim says. When asked, Kate had answered with, ‘yeah, like one misses an STD’, but there had been no force behind the words. Kate’s and Tony’s juvenile teasing might be borderline abusive at times, but they did like each other, of that, Tim was fairly certain.

Tony’s eyelids are half-shut, but he’s smiling, perhaps replaying some conversation with Kate.

“You know,” he says, “she told me she’d been infected with the plague too.”

Tim knows this; Kate admitted it to Abby, and Abby told Tim. Tim hasn’t asked Kate about it, but he can understand her thought process. He thinks – and hopes – he would have done the same thing.

“I didn’t figure out that she wasn’t until I was coughing blood and she was still standing up,” Tony says, sounding almost wistful.

“You were feverish and sick,” Tim says. “No one expected your brain cell to work.”

He throws in the joke for good measure; Tony seems to need it. It provokes the response he wants: Tony glares at him.

“Just because I’m not part of the MIT geek squad,” he mutters. “Besides, at the end of the day, I get the women, and you get to stay at home and hang out with your computer.”

Tim wants to tell Tony that he’s not particularly keen on getting women, but he knows such a statement will lead to unpleasant questions that he definitely can’t answer.

“Jock,” he says instead, by way of short retribution. It’s not a very good comeback.

“Nerd,” Tony replies.

“Playboy,” Tim says.

“Virgin,” Tony grins.

And just like that, things feel normal. The two half-glare, half-grin at each other, and if it hadn’t been for the hospital setting and the general sick look of Tony, it could have been any day of the week at work.

Tim’s phone rings.

“Shouldn’t that be turned off in here?” Tony asks, although it’s more of a pointed statement.

“Rather the wrath of the nurses, than the wrath of Gibbs,” Tim mutters, and answers. “McGee.”

Tony looks at him expectantly.

“Gibbs?” he mouths, and Tim nods.

He listens while Gibbs talks, and then relates to Tony, “Kate broke Lyndon’s wife in interrogation. She confessed to murdering him.”

“What about the alibi?” Tony asks, and Tim gives the question to Gibbs.

“Fabricated,” Tim says. “Here, he wants to talk to you.”

He holds out the phone to Tony, who takes it. Tim notes the shaking hand and decides that once the call is over, he’ll leave so that Tony can get some rest.

“Yeah, boss?” Tony says. It takes a few seconds, but then Tony smiles brilliantly. “Thanks, boss.” Another pause, and then, “Yeah, I know.”

He ends the call and hands Tim back the phone.

“What did he say?” Tim asks.

“Good job,” Tony grins. “And that if I magically get a hold of another cold case while still on leave, both me and the enabler will be sparring with him without protection.”

Tim swallows. “Good to know.”

He stands up, and it feels all wrong, because it means he’s suddenly looking down at Tony. It makes Tony look small, which he really isn’t.

“I should go,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Solving a fourteen year old cold case will only keep Gibbs happy for about twenty-three seconds. You should get back.”

Still, Tim hesitates. He likes being here, likes hanging out with Tony. And he still doesn’t like that Tony looks a bit too close for comfort to death.

“Probie, go,” Tony says. “I’ve got all these hot nurses poking and prodding me.”

Tim nods. “I’ll be by later, or tomorrow.”

“Mother hen,” Tony says, but Tim thinks he hears affection in his voice.

“You had a medieval illness,” Tim says. “It’s somewhat allowed.”

Then he grabs his coat and heads out, ears only slightly red.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Are you ready to go?”

“Hell yeah.”

Tony’s words are delivered with great emphasis, so that no one can mistake just how horrible he thinks his stay in the hospital has been. Tim holds back a smile at Tony’s theatrics.

“You know,” Tony says, “we really should do something ritualistic about my leaving this place. Set it on fire, or something.”

“I think that’d be illegal,” Tim points out.

“You’re probably right,” Tony says. “Still.”

Tony is required to be pushed in a wheelchair to the hospital entrance; his doctors don’t want him overexerting himself on their turf. Tony has already grumbled a great deal about it, but Tim thinks it’s a good thing that Tony isn’t walking – he looks rather like the living dead. Although there is now color in his cheeks, it doesn’t make up for the dark shadows around his eyes that make it look as though he hasn’t slept in weeks, when it is, in fact, what he’s done the most in the last eight days.

Nurse Emma pushes Tony out to the front doors. She grins at Tony; they’ve become fast friends during his stay. Tim thinks she has a bit of a crush on Tony, and then he thinks that she’s not the only one – at which point, he backtracks quickly and ignores his own mind.

“Thank you, Nurse Emma,” Tony says, smiling brilliantly at her when they stop by the automatic doors. “I’ll take if from here.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks.

“Very,” Tony says.

He stands up, and it’s a bit unsteady. Tim has parked the car just outside, at the closest parking space he could find, and it seems like that was a particularly bright idea.

“Just don’t overexert yourself,” Emma says. “As much as we’ve enjoyed having you here, I’d rather not see you back, preferably ever.”

Tony grins. “Well, I haven’t enjoyed my stay much, so I’d rather not repeat the experience either. No offense.”

“None taken,” she smiles.

They hug, and Tim stands awkwardly at the side, Tony’s bag in one hand. It’s not very heavy – Tony has worn hospital gowns for the most part, and the nurses have washed and shaved him for the first four days, until he could stand up without doubling over into a coughing fit. After that, he’s used the antibacterial soaps of the hospital. The bag does hold a few magazines, a bunch of DVDs, Tony’s toothbrush, a black teddy bear in goth clothes from Abby, and a selection of get-well cards. There is also a wide range of medicines that Tony is supposed to take in the coming weeks.

Emma waves goodbye as she leaves, and Tony turns to Tim. “Let’s get out of here.”

Although Tim is not as enthusiastic about Tony leaving Bethesda – mostly because he thinks that Tony should have stayed there for another two days, like the doctors wanted – he does enjoy the smile on Tony’s face as he steps outside.

“Ah,” Tony says. “Fresh air. I’m a free man at last.”

“You’ve been in the hospital, not in jail,” Tim says, rolling his eyes.

“The hospital is much worse,” Tony says, looking back at the building as they make the way – at a slower pace than usual – towards the car. He shudders as he speaks. “They have needles and machines and they poke and prod.”

Tim knows; he’s seen the nurses draw blood and get x-rays, and he figures there must have been worse things – Tony had a catheter, after all.

Tim opens the door on the passenger side for Tony, who looks at him.

“I’m not your date, Probie,” he says. “You don’t have to hold the door open for me.”

“Just get in,” Tim says, “before you fall down.”

“I’m not falling down,” Tony says. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You look like a raccoon,” Tim says.

“Hey! I’m sick,” Tony says. “Be nice to the sick.”

“You just said you were fine, Tony,” Tim says, smiling.

He starts the car, waits for Tony to sit down and fasten his seat belt, and then he’s driving out of there. Driving away from Bethesda, the plague suddenly feels like a bad dream – until he looks at Tony, still worse for wear.

It takes a little over twenty minutes to drive from the hospital to Tony’s home. In that time, Tony manages to fall asleep, his chin resting against his shoulder, lolling this way and that as the car turns. Tim drives carefully – he never drives like Gibbs does – and Tony doesn’t stir.

When they get to Tony’s apartment, Tim reaches out a hand and places it on Tony’s shoulder. Touching Tony has become slightly easier in the last week – there was the holding him up while he coughed, handing him water afterwards, and placing a hand of support on his shoulder when the nurses came to collect more blood.

“’m awake,” Tony mumbles.

“Good,” Tim says. “We’re home.”

Tony looks up, blinking and taking in his surroundings. A grin spreads. “Home!”

He doesn’t skip out, although Tim’s fairly certain he would if he had the energy. Tim grabs the bag, locks the car, and heads after Tony.

Tony’s apartment is dark but clean. Gibbs has been there to get some of the things currently in the bag, and Tony’s cleaning lady has obviously done her job. Gibbs must have paid.

“Home, sweet home,” Tony says. He doesn’t get any farther than the couch, though, and he drops down unceremoniously. “Ahh.”

Tim stands in the doorway, feeling uncertain. Tony stretches like a content cat on the couch, and despite the racoonish look and the fact that he’s lost weight in the last week, he looks ridiculously good. Tim could spend weeks in the gym and he still wouldn’t look as good as Tony does, a week after having the plague.

Tim places the bag on the floor and heads into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he finds the shelves well-stacked with containers of ready-made food, fresh vegetables, milk, and other necessities. Abby and Kate have obviously upheld their promise on stocking up.

“Want something to eat?” Tim asks, walking back to the living room.

Tony looks at him from his position on the couch, and it’s very reminiscent of the way he’s looked at Bethesda.

“Pizza,” he says, and there’s a light in his eyes.

Tim chuckles. “Pizza it is.”

Tim hasn’t eaten the hospital food they’ve served Tony, but he’s smelled and seen it, and that is enough.

Tony gets almost every topping on the list for his pizza. Tim orders a Hawaii.

Tony lies down again, making himself comfortable until the pizza is delivered. Because he’s gotten used to trying to make Tony as comfortable as possible, Tim grabs a blanket and covers Tony.

“You really are a McMommy, you know that?” Tony asks, without opening his eyes.

Tim’s cheeks heat up. “Well, you’re, uh, a bratty DiNozzo baby, so that’s what you get.”

Tony snorts and looks at him. “Wasn’t bratty. I had stuff, but I was never a brat. Daddy dearest saw to that.”

There is more to Tony’s words than he’s saying. Tim has tried to fit the pieces of the Tony puzzle together for a while, but his past is hard to figure out, especially when Tony might be playing some things up – and other things down.

“You were born with a silver spoon and golden diapers,” Tim says, instead of trying to delve deeper. He knows Tony will open up only when he decides he wants to.

“’twas just a golden trim on the diapers,” Tony says, smirking.

“Right,” Tim says.

There’s a beat of silence before Tony asks, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Family,” Tony says. “You a brat?”

“I, uh, I don’t think I was,” Tim says. “I think my little sister’s more of a brat than me. But then, most siblings probably say that about the other.”

Tony smiles slightly. “Never had a sibling.”

Tim knows this, and it never surprised him. Being an only child fits Tony’s character very well.

“Don’t think my parents even really wanted me,” Tony says, cocking his head to the side and looking at something beyond Tim. “They just wanted an heir. An accessory to show off. Preferably in a sailor’s outfit. I don’t think I really fit the bill for what they ordered.”

Tim swallows, and wonders what he’s supposed to say to that.

Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, Probie. That was a little off track.”

“Uh, no problem,” Tim says.

The doorbell rings at that moment, saving him from having to figure out what to say next. Tim pays the delivery guy and carries the pizzas inside. They smell good, of course. Tony struggles to sit up from his horizontal position, and Tim only just manages to stop himself from helping. Tony is not a child and he won’t appreciate being coddled.

“I’ll get some plates,” he says instead. “Do you want a soda?”

“I guess a beer is pushing it?” Tony asks.

“Um, Gibbs and Doctor Pitt’ll have my head if I let you have anything alcoholic,” Tim says.

“’s what I thought,” Tony says. “Soda it is.”

They eat in silence. Tim watches Tony, noting that the man who can usually down a whole pizza in under ten minutes is struggling after a third of it.

“Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Tony says finally, putting the pizza down. He’s frowning.

“You’ve eaten pudding for a week,” Tim says. “It makes sense that you can’t eat as much now.”

Tony looks at him. “A third of a pizza, McGee. I feel like a girl.”

Tim can’t help it; he snorts.

Tony glares at him.

“Tony, you’re not a girl just because you can’t eat a ton of pizza and drink beer right now,” Tim says, rather exasperated. “You’ve had the plague. Give yourself a break.”

Tony looks at him with unreadable eyes. Before the plague, Tim thought he was getting better at reading Tony, but the week in Bethesda has made him re-evaluate that idea. Looks like the kind Tony is giving Tim now – which hold darkness and something akin to despair, and anger and sadness all in a incoherent mess – are new, and Tim doesn’t know what to say or do to them.

But then Tony pulls back, sinking into the couch. He sighs. “You should go, Probie. It’ll be a few days before cheery ole DiNozzo is back.”

It’s Tim’s turn to frown. “Uh, if you don’t mind me saying it – I’m kind of appreciating the DiNozzo who isn’t—uh, you know, reminding me that I’m the probie every other minute?”

“ _I_ like that DiNozzo,” Tony says, making a face.

They’re both silent for a few moments.

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Tim says.

Tony shrugs, looking away. “Do as you’d like.”

“What do _you_ want?”

Tony refuses to look at him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be asleep in a little while, because that’s all I seem to be able to do these days – and although I’m sure watching me sleep is great fun, maybe there’s something more productive you could be doing.”

He doesn’t breathe through his tired, sarcastic monologue, and Tim worries that he’ll start coughing because of it. But Tony takes a few calming breaths, and doesn’t start coughing, and that makes Tim release his own breath.

Tim worries his lip with his teeth, trying to decide on what to say. Tony’s quiet, obviously waiting for Tim’s response – or perhaps waiting for him to leave.

“Perhaps,” Tim says quietly, “if you’ll let me decide what’s fun and what’s a productive way to spend my time—uh, maybe that’ll be easier for all of us? And then you can just, you know, sleep, like you need to get back to your old, annoying self?”

Tony turns his head slowly to look at Tim. “You like watching me sleep, Probie?”

Tim’s ears become red, and he hopes Tony doesn’t notice his discomfort.

“N-no,” he stammers.

“The Probster is lying,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes, smiling slightly. “Why’s that?”

“Tony—”

“Trying to get back to my old, annoying self,” Tony says. “Why do you like watching me sleep?”

“I don’t,” Tim snaps.

“Yes, you do,” Tony says. “Come on, McGee.”

Tim glares, and decides to give Tony one of the reasons why he likes watching Tony sleep – because he does.

“I just like to make sure that you’re still breathing and haven’t just—died,” he says, quickly and rather quietly.

His words stop Tony short, and he finds himself under intense scrutiny once again. Tim can’t meet Tony’s eyes for fear that Tony will see other things – things Tim doesn’t even admit to himself – in his eyes. There are other reasons to like watching Tony sleep, but he will not voice them, preferably not ever if he wants to keep his job.

Tony’s face softens. “Thanks, I guess.”

“What?”

“Thanks,” Tony says again. “For having my six.”

“You—uh, you’re welcome,” Tim says, frowning.

Then Tony gives him a quick grin. “Even though it seems like a waste of time at the hospital, considering all the machines I was hooked up to—”

Tim knows this; he knew it even when he was watching the heart monitor’s line doing tops and dips. He knew there were machines that could tell if Tony was in danger far better than Tim ever could – and yet he still wanted to be there, still wanted to keep track.

Something in Tim’s face makes Tony fall silent. Tim is grateful.

“You should sleep,” he tells Tony.

Tony makes a face, but nods. “Yeah. Think I’ll stay here, though. Long way to the bed.”

Tim nods. “Okay.”

When Tony lays down, Tim grabs the blanket, which is all bunched up on the floor after their dinner. He stands as Tony stretches out on the couch, and places the blanket back over him.

“McMommy,” Tony says sleepily.

“Brat baby DiNozzo,” Tim replies calmly.

“You staying?” Tony asks.

Tim shakes his head. “After our conversation, how could I not?”

Tony smiles softly, and Tim knows he’s already falling asleep. “Good,” he says, echoing what he said almost a week ago at the hospital. “Don’t want to wake up dead.”

His words make Tim smile. Then he hesitates for a second before leaning over and pushing a few strands of hair out of Tony’s face. It’s a risky move, but Tony doesn’t react.

Tim straightens, and takes the left over pizza out to the kitchen.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Tim finds Tony sitting on the couch. There is a blanket around his shoulders and he is dressed in grey sweats and an old college t-shirt, but Tim thinks he looks unfairly hot. If Tim had donned the same outfit and stance, he thinks he’d be mistaken for a homeless person.

“Probster!” Tony exclaims as he comes in.

He sounds a bit too happy, Tim thinks, and he narrows his eyes at Tony.

“Tony, what did you do?” he asks.

Tony looks up at him, eyes rather big. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, you’re never that happy to see me,” Tim says.

“Well,” Tony says, “I may be going crazy.”

Tim just stares at him.

Tony sighs, the loopy smile dropping off. “Fine. I’m bored.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Tim says.

He hangs his jacket in the hallway, takes off his shoes, and enters the living room. The movie currently playing has been paused, but from the frozen image, it looks like a violent one.

“McGee, get me out of here,” Tony says, voice whiny. “I swear, I’m going crazy.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Tim says.

“It’s all I do,” Tony says. “It’s all I’ve been doing. And Kate’s been here, and Ducky’s been here – even Gibbs was here, and they’re all making me sit and be still, while everyone else does everything for me. _Gibbs_ is doing things for _me_. Do you realize how wrong that is?”

Tim fights to hide his smile. “Tony, they just—uh, we, I guess—we just care.”

“Then help me flee,” Tony says, leaning closer to Tim. “It’s better that I do it with supervision than without, right?”

Tim get the sudden image of Tony, out walking, collapsing somewhere with no one around. He imagines Tony coughing until there’s no air left in him, he imagines the ambulance, too late to—

He shakes his head, pushing the images away.

“Probie, come on,” Tony pleads.

Tim rubs his eyes. He knows he will say yes, because he’s certain that Tony will do it on his own if Tim doesn’t go along, but he wants it to be more of a fight. In the end, he nods.

“Fine. But just a short walk.”

“Yes!” Tony says.

After two days at home – the two days the doctors understandably wanted him to stay at Bethesda – Tony is moving around all right by himself. He no longer walks hunched over and he’s not using the walls for support when he has to go more than ten feet – but none of that is to say that he’s fine. The shadows in his face remains, and the lost weight has not yet made it back to his body. There is also a tiredness in his eyes that Tim hasn’t seen before.

After putting his shoes on, Tony is ready to head out. Tim shakes his head.

“Jacket,” he says.

“McMom,” Tony mutters, but he takes the offered jacket from Tim.

They ride the elevator down, and a minute later, they’re standing outside. Tony breathes in, although it’s not as deep a breath as one someone with undamaged lungs would have taken.

Tim looks around, wondering if Gibbs or Dr. Pitt is hiding in the bushes somewhere, waiting to see if he’ll break the rules and take Tony out for a walk. It’s silly, he knows, because it’s a weekend, and surely Gibbs must have better things to do than spy on his team, and Dr. Pitt probably has other patients to see.

“So, where to?” Tim asks after a minute has passed.

“Starbucks,” Tony says. “And before you start whining, it’s a ten minute walk. I can manage a ten minute walk.”

“If you say so,” Tim says.

Tony doesn’t answer; he starts walking instead. There is no need for Tim to hurry to catch up, as Tony is moving slower than usual. At this pace, it is likely to take more along the lines of fifteen, twenty minutes to the coffee shop.

“So, anything new at work?” Tony asks conversationally.

“Um, not really,” Tim says truthfully. “It’s been slow, just routine stuff. Gibbs is having us catch up on paperwork.”

“You know it’s slow when,” Tony says, grinning.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

The sun is shining and it feels warm against Tim’s skin. He sneaks looks at Tony every few moments, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He wonders if this was a good idea after all, when Tony starts sweating.

“Stop looking at me like I’m an endangered species, Probie,” Tony says without looking at him.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were,” Tony says.

“Well, I’m not sure that this, uh, you know, is a good idea,” Tim says.

“Everyone says fresh air’s good for you,” Tony says. “And there’s no rain or anything. What’s not to like?”

“The fact that you had the plague last week?” Tim asks.

“Killjoy,” Tony mutters.

“Look, Tony, maybe we should head back—”

“No,” Tony says resolutely, and keeps on walking.

Tim sighs. He trails after Tony, watching him even though Tony just told him not to. Tim can’t seem to get enough of looking at Tony lately – it’s like his run-in with the plague made Tim realize that Tony might not be around forever. Tony isn’t bullet-proof, or plague-proof; he doesn’t have any kind of supernatural abilities to stay alive at all. In fact, considering how much of a trouble magnet Tony tends to be, it’s amazing that he’s reached thirty-seven years of age.

“You’re doing it again,” Tony says, not even glancing back to look at Tim.

“You’re walking in front of me,” Tim mutters.

But he slides up to walk beside Tony instead, keeping close enough to grab him, should the need arise for any reason. Tony gives him a long look that tells him what he thinks of Tim’s mother-henning, but Tim meets his gaze as steadily as he can, and Tony finally sighs lightly and shrugs.

“So, is it lonely at work without me?” Tony asks.

It is, but Tim isn’t about to inflate Tony’s ego to the point where it will almost burst. “No, it’s actually really nice. Calm. We’re getting a lot of work done.”

Tony looks slightly hurt, and Tim thinks about taking it back, but decides that Tony has teased him enough times for him to deserve it.

“But Kate must miss me,” he says.

Tim knows she does – he’s seen her look longingly at Tony’s desk. Besides, she’s visiting Tony almost as often as Tim is. He must know that they’re missing him.

“No, she’s enjoying it,” Tim says. “She seems to enjoy her temporary status as the Senior Field Agent, too.”

“She—what—but that’s _temporary_ , right?” Tony says, looking stricken for real.

Tim decides he’s taken it far enough. He dares to reach out and place a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “It’s temporary.”

Tony searches his eyes, and finds what it is he’s looking for, because he nods. “Good. She can have it ‘til I’m back.”

He’s nearly panting now, and there’s a trail of sweat running down the side of his face now. Tim frowns; he’s barely warm from their slow walk.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine, Probie,” Tony says. “Just a little warm. Exercise will do that to you.”

Tim bites his lip, but refrains from pointing out that this barely constitutes as exercise, especially for two federal agents. He sees the Starbucks sign looming ahead, and decides that they might as well go there and rest – going back will take longer. They might catch a cab home, to be on the safe side.

It takes them another four minutes to reach the doors of the café. Tony is red-faced, which clashes badly with the shades of blue around his eyes, and his breath is raspy, but he gives Tim a pointed look that tells him he’d better not ask.

“What do you want?” Tim asks, nodding towards the menu on the wall.

“A latte,” Tony says. “Big one.”

Tim nods. “Go sit down. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tony looks like he’s going to argue, but then he seems to realize just how tired he is. “I’ll be over there.”

Tim stands in line, watching as Tony stumbles towards a few seats in the back. Once sitting down, facing away from Tim, Tony rests his head in his hands, and Tim can see his shoulders shake with every breath he takes, even from a distance.

He orders a black coffee for himself, and Tony’s latte, as well as a chocolate chip muffin. It’s far from the ordered diet, but Tim hopes the sugar and calories will do some good to Tony.

“Here,” he says, setting the tray down in front of Tony.

Tony sits up, looking hollow-eyed and exhausted. “Thanks.”

“You should’ve stayed at home,” Tim says. “I could’ve gotten coffee for you.”

“I wanted to get out,” Tony says.

“You got out of the hospital two days ago,” Tim says. “Give yourself a break.”

“I’m tired of giving myself breaks,” Tony says, and there’s anger and pain in his voice. “It’s all I’m doing – ‘give yourself a break, DiNozzo, you shouldn’t have to be able to walk all the way to the bathroom, it’s _really_ far’. ‘Give yourself a break, DiNozzo, staying awake for a whole day is really tough’. ‘Give yourself—’”

“Oh, stop it,” Tim snaps, surprising himself.

Tony stops, looking at him with unreadable eyes. The redness of his face has left, and he’s now pale and still sweating.

“Something to say, Probie?” he asks, in a tone that is quiet and very nearly threatening. Tim wonders if Tony would be able to kill him, even now, when he’s obviously still sick. He thinks it’s definitely a possibility.

“Yeah, uh,” Tim says, voice shaking. He puts his cup of coffee down, deciding to do so before he spills all over himself. “You were sick.”

“So?”

“So!” Tim says, “So, give yourself a break. The doctors didn’t even want you leaving the hospital until today. Most of them didn’t think you’d survive at all – and yet here you are, annoying and stupid and alive. And no, you can’t run the marathon, or even be awake for a whole day right now – but that’s because your body’s still recuperating. Give yourself a break!”

He glares at Tony. He knows his hands are shaking – standing up to Tony isn’t something he does on a regular basis – and he folds them in his lap. A part of him wants to reach out and strangle Tony for being so thick-headed – and the other part wants to reach out and kiss him, to make sure he’s still there, whole and alive.

He does neither, because he knows neither will be appreciated – although the second option is probably worse to Tony than the first.

Tony is regarding him wordlessly, perhaps working out what to say, or perhaps simply concentrating on breathing calmly. Every breath is raspy and loud to Tim, who’s paid such close attention to Tony’s breathing in the last week.

“Probie,” he says, wheezing the word out. “You’ve grown a spine.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well—”

He trails off, looking at Tony. Tony averts his eyes, and presses the heel of his hand to his temple. He screws his eyes shut.

“Probie?”

Tony’s request is quiet and filled with hurt.

“Yeah?”

“Get me home,” he says, voice soft but thick with phlegm.

Tim swallows, because he knows how much it takes for Tony to ask for help the way he just did. He gets his cell phone out, and within thirty seconds, he’s ordered a cab. It will have arrived by the time they’ve made it to the door.

“Can you stand?” Tim asks. His heart is beating faster than normal, worry for Tony seeping into his voice.

Tony nods. He’s being truthful – he can stand, but not much more than that. He’s shaking, and Tim grabs his arm, steadying him. As they leave, he bends down and picks up the untouched muffin.

They make their way out to the cab, which is waiting just outside. Tony is stumbling with every other step he takes, and people look at them funny. They probably think Tony is drunk. Tim doesn’t care; he simply wants Tony back at home and safe in bed.

The taxi ride is very quick – their twenty minute walk is less than a three minute drive – and he pays the driver before helping Tony out.

Tony leans on him on the way up.

“You’ll never—let me—hear—the end of—this,” he says.

Tim is fairly certain he’ll never use this as teasing fodder – he won’t want to remember this at all. His heart constricts as he looks at Tony.

He unlocks the door with Tony’s key and lets them both into the apartment. He steers Tony straight into his bedroom. Tony slumps down.

“Shoes off, and into bed,” Tim says.

“McMommy,” Tony mumbles.

“You obviously need it,” Tim says. “You’re an idiot, Tony.”

Tony coughs, any comeback he might have had drowned out by phlegm and mucus. He doubles over, leaning forward, fingers balling into fists as he coughs. Tim’s heart races – should he be calling for an ambulance? Does Tony need to get back to the hospital? But he doesn’t call; he simply kneels beside him, rubbing his hand over Tony’s back.

Eventually, the coughs subside, and Tony is left breathless, leaning into Tim’s touch. Tim sits next to him, and Tony rests his head on Tim’s shoulder. Tim can’t quite believe it – and he refuses to acknowledge just how warm and wonderful it feels to hold Tony close.

Daringly, Tim presses a kiss to Tony’s warm temple.

Tony stiffens, and Tim is about to pull away, to deliver some lame excuse as to why he just did what he did, but then Tony relaxes again. His breathing is evening out, and after a little longer, it’s back to normal, but Tim’s hand keeps running up and down his back. Tim wonders if Tony is falling asleep sitting up.

“Tony?” he says quietly.

“Mh-hmm?” Tony mumbles.

“You should lie down,” Tim says.

“Mh-hmm,” Tony says.

Tim moves to stand, to allow Tony room to get into bed. But Tony holds onto him, one hand suddenly fisting Tim’s shirt.

“Stay?” he asks.

“Here?” Tim squeaks.

Tony blinks, and he seems to wake up. He looks down at his hand, grabbing Tim’s shirt, and he scrambles back.

“Uh—sorry, Probie,” he says, some of his macho persona back. “Didn’t mean—thought I was—uh.”

He trails off, and Tim frowns at him. “Do you, uh, want me to stay?”

Tony snorts, and Tim worries for a second that such a thing will make him cough again, but it doesn’t and Tony – who still looks exhausted – shakes his head.

“I wasn’t—I was thinking about, ah, someone else,” Tony says.

But there is something in his voice, in his body language, that says he’s lying. Tim looks at him, searchingly, knowing that if he’s getting this wrong, then he’ll soon be looking for a new job. He swallows, deciding that it’s worth the risk.

He grabs Tony’s wrist, which makes Tony look at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing, Probie?” he asks, attempting to sound threatening but it coming out more as a squeak.

“Tony,” Tim says, “lie down. Before you fall down.”

Tim pulls slightly at Tony. They regard each other, both measuring the other. There is fear in Tony’s eyes – fear and despair, and a loneliness that Tim hasn’t seen before.

Reluctantly, Tony gets under the covers. He’s shaking, his hands shivering like leaves in the wind. Tim thinks he has a fever – it felt like it, when he kissed Tony’s forehead, and he tucks Tony in, making sure the covers are all over him, keeping him warm.

He bends down, and drops another kiss on Tony’s hair.

Tony turns, looking at him. Their faces are close enough to be touching, if either of them moves just a little bit.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks him, again.

“I, uh,” Tim says.

He has no idea what to say; there is no explanation for him giving Tony light kisses that are in no way manly or socially acceptable among male co-workers. He knows there is nothing he can say that will make it all right. Blood rushes through him at a blinding speed, and he looks at Tony, seeing full, inviting lips and wide, beautiful eyes.

He bends his head and his lips meet Tony’s briefly. It’s just a peck, a quick, shallow press, Tony’s lips dry but warm beneath his own. Tim pulls away, storing the taste away in his mind – coffee, sweat, the tang of blood, and something so very _Tony_.

Tony is staring at him, with eyes wide as saucers.

“Probie—”

“Don’t worry,” Tim says, pulling back, pulling away. “I’ll resign. You won’t have to deal with me.”

He thinks it was still worth it – one kiss from Tony, in exchange for his job; it’s a fair trade.

Tony is still staring at him, and he blinks slowly at Tim’s words. “What? No—no. _No_. But—what was that?”

“Uh, a kiss, Tony,” Tim says, playing dumb. He has already decided to stay until Tony kicks him out.

“I’m not the only idiot here,” Tony mutters. “You— _why_?”

“Um—uh—well—nurses aren’t the only ones who get crushes on you,” Tim says.

“You have a _crush_ on me?” Tony asks, incredulously.

Tim nods mutely.

Tony looks at him until his eyes fall shut with sleepiness, and then he snaps them open, not unlike how he did in the hospital when he was trying too hard to stay awake.

“Get in here,” he says finally. “I’m too tired to talk about this now.”

“Get—uh,” Tim says. “What?”

“Get in,” Tony repeats. “Here.”

He motions to the bed. Tim’s mouth is hanging open; he’s aware of the fact, but he can’t seem to find a away to close it. He wonders if this will turn out to be a dream – if it is, he hopes the plague was a dream too.

Now it’s his turn to shake, as he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed after kicking his shoes off. Tony’s bed is wide and comfortable – and Tony himself is warm and perfectly molded to fit against Tim’s side, he soon decides. Tony snuggles – _snuggles_ – up to Tim, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around Tim’s middle.

Tim’s heart is still beating a hole through his chest, but as Tony’s breathing evens out, Tim’s heart rate slows. He looks down at the top of Tony’s head – his head is the only visible part of his body; the rest is beneath the covers – and drops another kiss. He might as well take advantage of the situation – he’s certain Tony will kick him out of bed, out of the apartment, off the team and out of NCIS once he wakes up, so he ought to enjoy it while it lasts.

After a while, he too falls asleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Tim is in the kitchen making coffee when Tony wakes up, padding on bare feet, looking rather frozen in his shirt and the gray sweats he hasn’t changed out of since Tim first arrived. Tim is overcome with the need to protect and take care of, and he walks past Tony into the living room and grabs a blanket, which he hands to Tony on his way back.

Tony gives him a look Tim can’t decipher, and wraps it around himself.

“So, uh,” Tim says finally, when the silence is too much to bear.

“Yeah,” Tony says.

Tim glances nervously at Tony. There is a whole host of things he wants to say, and another of things he should say. They aren’t necessarily the same things.

“Um—do you want some coffee?” Tim asks, when the pot is done.

“Definitely,” Tony says, and there is something in his voice that tells Tim that he’s just as nervous. Tim just can’t figure out if his nervousness is because he likes what happened before, or if it is because he didn’t.

Tony’s fingers ghost over Tim’s as he takes the cup.

“There’s a muffin too,” Tim says. “From Starbucks. I—uh, we didn’t eat it. Before. You know, when—well, you know.”

“I know.”

Tony’s words are quiet. Both his hands are wrapped around the cup of coffee, and Tim gets the feeling, just by taking in Tony’s appearance, that he’s still running a fever. He looks cold, the slump of his shoulders signaling exhaustion, despite just getting out of bed.

Wordlessly, Tim heads into the living room instead, sitting down on the couch. Tony follows, and sits down next to him. He pulls the blanket tighter. Tony is a big guy, but sunken back into the blanket, he doesn’t look it. Tim’s heart aches; this shadow of a man isn’t the one he is in love with. Because really, that’s what he is, if he’s honest with himself – it just took Tony nearly dying for him to realize as much.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, tone as quiet as Tony’s.

Tony regards him. “No.”

“Then—uh,” Tim says, because vocalizing his feelings has never been his strong suit. “Okay.”

Tony sips his coffee slowly. He closes his eyes, and Tim’s not certain whether it is because he’s thinking, or if he’s falling asleep again. He stops himself from reaching over and taking the cup from Tony; he hopes Tony’s aware enough not to fall asleep and spill all over himself.

“I don’t get you, Probie,” Tony says suddenly. His eyes are still closed.

“Uh, I—” Tim says, having no idea how to respond. He thinks he’s a fairly easy guy to understand.

Tony gazes at him, a hint of amusement on his lips. “That wasn’t something that needed an answer.”

“Oh.”

“I’m _awful_ to you,” Tony says, looking away once more. “Just awful. And you’re—here. And you _kissed_ me. And I don’t get that. I don’t get you.”

Tim’s doesn’t know if Tony expects an answer this time, and he’s even less sure that there is an answer. He agrees with Tony – Tony is awful to him, most of the time. He delegates every boring chore there is, he plays pranks, he invades Tim’s privacy, he teases him mercilessly – and yet there’s something about him. Something beneath all that – something, that Tim’s seen in the last week. There is more to Tony than the lighthearted jock.

He doesn’t say anything, though; he simply waits for Tony to continue. He still has no idea of whether Tony is going to backtrack completely – Tony did ask him to stay, to cuddle in bed with him, but Tony can blame the fever or temporary insanity, and get away with it. Tim doesn’t have anything to blame, and he’s not sure that he wants to, even if he could.

Tony’s cup is nearly empty by the time he speaks again.

“Gibbs got me through the plague itself,” he says. “Made me keep taking each breath, even when they felt like fire and ice all at once. I told you, I didn’t think I’d make it.”

Tony’s words head straight for Tim’s heart, and once again, his imagination supplies him with images of what life would be like if he’d been attending Tony’s funeral right now, instead of sitting in his living room. His breath catches and he swallows hard.

“And then there was Kate,” Tony says. “She was—there. Sat with me. Stayed with me. And Abby, she was there too. And Ducky.” Tony pauses. “But you. You. You weren’t there. You stayed away.”

“I didn’t—” Tim says, without thinking. He hates himself for choking on the words. “I didn’t want to see you.”

Tony looks up, and he appears startled at Tim’s words.

“I—” Tim starts, but then he changes his mind, and says instead, “You were superman.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

“You and Gibbs,” Tim says. “Neither of you can get hurt. You just—bounce back. And then you didn’t. They were—they told me you—uh, they said it was bad. I talked to Kate, and Abby, and Ducky—and I wanted to, but I couldn’t bring myself to come.”

“Superman?” Tony says, and he’s smiling slightly.

There’s a ghost of a grin on Tim’s lips; he knows Tony will wear the title of ‘superman’ with pride and glee for weeks to come. Right now, Tim doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “And then when I did come to Bethesda—I didn’t want to leave.”

“Must’ve been loads of fun watching me cough up my lungs,” Tony notes dryly.

Tim winces – the memories are still so fresh, it’s barely memories; it was just hours since Tony last coughed hard enough for Tim to think about calling an ambulance.

Tony’s looking at him, his gaze intense. “Gibbs got me through the plague, but you got me through Bethesda.”

“W-what?”

Tony shrugs, and places the empty cup on the table. He leans against the couch, looking tired but rather content.

“You were there,” Tony says. “You just—talked. Sat there. Gave me a cold case to think about.”

“Uh, yeah, Gibbs is still pissed about that,” Tim says, paling at the memory of the short, angry monologue Gibbs had made him listen to.

“I’ll bet,” Tony says.

“But, uh,” Tim says, “Kate was there. And Gibbs, and Ducky, and Abby?”

Tony smiles slightly. “Yeah. I know.”

He runs his fingers lazily up and down the side of the couch, as though mesmerized.

“So we all got you through it?”

“No one was there as much as you, Probie,” Tony says.

“Uh, yeah, um,” Tim says, face hot, because Tony was never supposed to notice that. Still, he knows that after the first three days, after he finally managed to get Kate to leave, she didn’t spend as much time there as him. Gibbs came and went, his visits short and to the point, mostly making sure Tony was still breathing. Abby had work to do, other teams to service, which meant she had less time than the team to be there; the same thing with Ducky.

Tony leans forwards slightly, still resting against the back of the couch. Tim suddenly realizes that Tony is inching closer and closer to Tim, slowly, as though he’s approaching an easily frightened animal. Tim wonders what it is Tony thinks he will do – after all, Tim kissed Tony, not the other way around.

“Didn’t want to leave,” Tim says quietly.

“I’m glad.”

Tim swallows. “I don’t regret kissing you.”

Tony smiles, and there is something about it that Tim would label almost dangerous. He’s still inching closer.

“That’s very— _honest_ of you,” he says.

“Yeah, uh, but—um,” Tim says, “I don’t think we should do this when you have a fever.”

Tony stops, and rolls his eyes. His smile turns into the usual mask of annoyance – the one he frequently wears at work, when Tim the Probie has said something particularly stupid.

“You’re not taking advantage of me, McGeek,” he says. “I’m a little cold, not incapable of thought.”

“If you’re cold, you should be in bed,” Tim says. “Maybe I should call Dr. Pitt.”

“Don’t you dare,” Tony says, glaring. “I’ll be fine.”

Tim is torn between doing what Tony wants, and what’s probably best for him. He decides that if Tony gets any worse, he’ll call Dr. Pitt. He says as much to Tony.

“Will you tell me if it gets worse?” he asks.

“Yes, McWorry,” Tony says, and Tim can tell he’s lying. Tony obviously hates the hospital – and with good reason, Tim thinks, considering the poking and prodding they put him through.

“One of us should worry,” Tim mutters. “You don’t.”

“I have others that do that for me,” Tony says, grinning. “Obviously.”

And then suddenly, Tony leans forward and his face is two inches away from Tim’s face. Tim’s breath hitches and he stares wide-eyed at Tony.

“I’m not in a crazy fevered haze,” Tony says, and then his lips descend upon Tim’s.

This, too, is a quick and chaste kiss. Tony isn’t up for any more than that, with scarred lungs that need a constant and even supply of air – and still, it’s quite possibly the best kiss Tim’s ever tasted. Tony’s lips are dry but soft, full and warm, and this time, the kiss is more certain than the one they shared in the bedroom earlier.

Tony pulls away, and he’s smiling, merriment shining in his eyes, quite possibly at the look on Tim’s face.

“I—uh,” Tim says, searching an empty brain for words.

“There’s the intelligent McGee we all know,” Tony says, grinning.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim says. “I think you _are_ crazy, but you don’t need a fever to be that.”

“You kissed me first,” Tony reminds him.

“It’s contagious,” Tim says.

Tony leans against him, head resting on Tim’s shoulder. He curls up, long legs up and one arm across Tim’s stomach, and Tim can’t do anything but love holding Tony. He rests his arm around Tony’s shoulders, and Tony sighs softly.

“Didn’t know I had a crush on you,” Tony says.

“But you do?” Tim asks.

“Obviously,” Tony says. “I don’t cuddle with just anyone.”

“You just have sex with them,” Tim says, but it’s barely teasing.

“Sex is necessary, it’s human nature,” Tony says. “Cuddling is—not.”

Tim smiles, and places a kiss on the top of Tony’s head. He feels the rise and fall of Tony’s chest with each breath he takes, and he likes that – he likes knowing that Tony is still breathing.

Soon, Tony is asleep again. Tim doesn’t fall asleep with him this time; he sits quietly on the couch, arm around Tony, and he listens to and feels every breath Tony takes. Every now and then, he rubs Tony’s arm, or kisses the top of his head.

“Love you,” he mumbles into Tony’s soft hair, and he smiles to himself.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

The next time they go out for a walk, Tony manages just fine. He’s been home nearly a week, and he is looking much better – although the shadows beneath his eyes stay stubbornly, as a blue reminder of the hell he’s been through.

“I am so ready to get back to work,” Tony says as they walk.

Tim is beside him, perhaps slightly closer than strictly necessary. He doesn’t care, not right now – not when the sun is shining and Tony’s energy is nearly at the level it’s always been at work.

“You don’t think you should, you know, take the time the director offered?” he asks.

Tony glares at him. “Another week, cooped up at home with nothing to do? No way.”

“I’ve given you notes on the stuff we’re working on,” Tim says.

“Notes!” Tony exclaims. “I don’t want notes – I want to be out there. Field working. Securing evidence. Interviewing suspects.”

“You make it sound like you’ve been away from NCIS for months,” Tim says.

“Feels like it,” Tony says. “A week in Bethesda is a month out here.”

Tim is inclined to agree. The hours in Bethesda did seem to move slower – the seconds when Tony coughed up blood seemed to take eons to pass. Tim thinks he probably aged a year or ten in there, worrying about Tony.

They have walked for nearly half an hour, and are almost back at Tony’s apartment. It is enough to get Tony a bit tired, but it’s far from the exhaustion of their first excursion. Tim wants Tony to take it slow, to build up his body and allow his lungs to heal – but Tony does, of course, have other plans.

“When d’you think I can start running again?” he asks conversationally.

“Tony,” Tim says warningly.

“What?” Tony says. “I’m an NCIS agent – I need to stay fit. You know, you should look into it.”

Tim glares at him, but he knows it’s true. Tony before the plague could outrun him at any point – and he’s done so on a few occasions, while chasing suspects – and even now, pure will might very well lead to Tony winning, had they tried racing. They don’t, of course, even though Tony would have jumped at the chance. Still, Tim knows he ought to work out more.

Reaching Tony’s apartment complex, they take the stairs up rather than the elevator. Tim knows Tony is pushing himself, but he listens to Tony’s breathing and deems him fine. He’s no doctor, but after having listened to Tony’s breathing for nearly two weeks, he feels he’s something of an expert on the subject. He knows the sounds Tony makes before a coughing attack, and this is not it. He can tell several other ways Tony’s breathing shifts – the most interesting one being when they kiss.

They haven’t done anything beyond kissing and a bit of groping. Tim knows Tony wants to, but Tim is afraid that the excitement will lead to coughing, and he’d rather not be the reason why that happens.

Tony closes the door behind them, and immediately, Tim finds himself pressed against the wall.

Tony’s lips are demanding and pushy, tongue running across Tim’s lower lip before pushing into his mouth, and Tim can do nothing but reciprocate with the same aggressiveness.

When Tony pulls back, they’re both panting.

“I managed half an hour of walking,” Tony says, voice a growl, lips half an inch from Tim’s. “Do you think there’s any possibility that we could move beyond making out?”

Tim’s body is aching with need, even after just the short, hot kissing. Being this close to Tony for days, but not allowing anything more to happen – even Tim gets frustrated. He can feel Tony’s hard-on against his own leg. He looks at Tony, and sees heat and intensity in his eyes.

“God yes,” Tim breathes.

A grin flashes across Tony’s face, and he pulls at Tim. They kiss their way into the bedroom, clothes ripped off as they go. Tim’s shirt comes off, and Tony’s fingers pull at his belt buckle, and then they fall onto the bed.

Tim loses his mind in the feeling of Tony beneath him, his warm, strong body perfectly fitted against his own. Tim is self-conscious as Tony pulls his clothes off, but as Tony’s hands roam his body, Tim forgets all about it, and allows himself to just enjoy the moment.

He has no idea how much time has passed since they started, when he collapses, spent, on the mattress. Tony curls up against his side. They need to clean themselves up, but Tim’s heart is still racing from his orgasm, and he can’t make his heavy limbs move just yet. He runs his hand lazily through Tony’s hair.

“Won’t be able to sit for a week,” Tony mutters.

Tim smiles sleepily. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tony says, looking up. “You weren’t—”

“Tony?”

Tony gives him a look, that tells him exactly what he feels about being interrupted. “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Tony snorts. “Now there’s a lover’s exclamation if I ever heard one.”

He lays his head back on Tim’s shoulder. Tim thinks about the words Tony has just said. He wonders what Tony will say if Tim does say the words that a lover should say after sex – three words, which he undoubtedly feels, but it might still be too early.

But then he thinks that Tony nearly died just two weeks ago, and if things had gone differently, then he’d never have said the words at all. Tim suddenly realize that no, they don’t have all the time in the world.

“Tony?”

“Didn’t say anything,” Tony says. “Can’t shut up any more than I already have.”

Tim smiles. A beat of silence passes, and he knows Tony is gearing up to say something else, and then Tim will lose his nerve.

“I love you.”

The words leave his mouth, and though his heart beats with nervousness, he doesn’t regret saying them.

Tony slowly lifts his head up to look at Tim again. “Seriously?”

He sounds as though he doesn’t quite believe it – as though maybe he should look around to see if there’s a hidden camera somewhere.

Tim cups Tony’s face in his hand. “Seriously.”

“Oh,” Tony says. “Huh.”

Tony’s gaze is piercing, but Tim doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He gives Tony a small smile. He doesn’t mind if Tony doesn’t say the words back – it might be far too soon. He just knows that he needed to say it.

“Haven’t heard those words in years,” Tony says quietly, resting down again. “Decades, really. I think mom told me when I was like ten or something.”

“None of your girlfriends—?” Tim asks.

“Never had one for long enough,” Tony says.

“And no boyfriends?” Tim says, part teasing and part curiosity.

“Same thing,” Tony says calmly. “Though there haven’t been all that many.”

They fall silent. Tim runs his hand in lazy circles up and down Tony’s back. He enjoys their moment of calm, their afterglow together in the darkening room as night falls. Tomorrow, Tony will be back at NCIS, and things will go back to a relative state of normalcy. Except they’ll be hiding a relationship, of course. The others can’t know, at least not yet. Tim has already warned Tony that Abby will figure it out soon enough, and they both doubt they can keep it from Gibbs for all that long. But they’ll try, keeping things perfectly normal at work.

Tim wonders what he will feel the next time Tony puts himself in harm’s way. He lives under no pretence that Tony won’t do stupid things just because they’re together; Tony will still get shot at, and drugged, and kidnapped, and—the list goes on and on. But now, with a whole new investment in Tony, what will Tim feel?

“You know,” Tony says, bringing Tim out of his thoughts. “I think I do too.”

Tim’s heart speeds up. “What?”

Tony looks at him, and he there’s a slight frown on his face, as though he’s trying to feel through his own body to make sure.

“Oh, you know,” Tony says. “Don’t make me say it. Not yet.”

Tim grins; he can’t help it. He kisses Tony, a soft and sweet kiss with none of the aggressive impatience of earlier – instead, this is filled with promise and heart.

“You don’t have to say it,” Tim says. “I know.”

Tony smiles, and curls in tighter against Tim.

“Good.”

 

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it :) I hope you've enjoyed.


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